


if you got the notion

by WhyWouldIEver



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mild Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27031558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyWouldIEver/pseuds/WhyWouldIEver
Summary: They blow up the bridge and then Arthur blows John.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 13
Kudos: 73





	if you got the notion

**Author's Note:**

> This just dives right in so here’s some context:
> 
> It’s set immediately after John and Arthur blow up the bridge with the dynamite in [The Bridge to Nowhere](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZWEdSjZyos) mission. Arthur doesn’t have TB, but everything else is sorta canon-compliant depending on what you can accept in the characterization when reading. :P
> 
> I just wanted to have some silly, no-fretting writing fun as well as get in a bit of practice for what I’m working on next in my Flying Blind verse. I hope you enjoy it!

Arthur and John are hidden behind Bacchus train station, tucked in alongside a stack of crates, not that there’s anyone around for miles yet to see them anyway. The two of ‘em are hopped up on adrenaline after their close brush with death by train, and somehow adrenaline translates into Arthur shoving John against the wall and dropping to his knees in front of him. 

John is honestly a bit confused by the circumstances that led to this if he tries to throw a stray thought in that direction, but he ain’t really complaining when this is the end result. He moans, a desperate sound that’s loud in the air, nothing else but the sound of burning wood and debris coming from the canyon nearby.

Arthur laughs with his mouth stuffed full, has to pull off to avoid choking. “That good, huh?” He says, grinning, and it’s not a question. Even with his mouth near John’s cock, he just can’t seem to shut the hell up. 

He’s got an eyebrow raised like he couldn’t be more amused by it all and John isn’t sure whether he wants to punch him or lean down and kiss him, so he does the next best thing and slips a hand into his hair that’s gotten longer than John’s ever seen it, and uses his grip as leverage to pull Arthur’s mouth back onto his cock.

John thrusts his hips a couple times, just to be mean, and peers down through the messy strands of his hair to watch Arthur’s mouth work. He seems to like it a little mean though, if John goes by the fiery look in his eyes when he looks up.

“Fuck, Arthur,” he says, his voice gone all breathless, and thunks his head back against the wall.

He thrusts his hips a few more times for good measure until Arthur pulls away, his tongue a hot, slippery mess pressed to the underside of John’s cock in a tantalizing tease.

Arthur straight-up laughs at him and John would be offended except for the raspier tone in his voice, the blown look in his eyes when John tilts his head forward again to see. “Yeah, you love it.”

“God, Arthur,” John groans, trying not to laugh because he knows it’ll only encourage him. “Just shut up.”

Except of course he has himself another little chuckle, but at least he leans forward to take John back down his throat. And he’s so god damn good at this that John wants to hate him just a little, yet another skill he’s got over John. But how could he hate him when Arthur sucks from near the base all the way to the head of his cock, pops off with his mouth pursed tight so all John can feel is the soft inside of his lips, and then licks around the crown, teases his tongue under the edge of John’s foreskin. It feels so good John doesn’t think he could ever hate him, cast under a spell by Arthur’s dick sucking abilities.

He laughs to himself at the thought, his embarrassing little rasp he knows he does when he’s truly tickled. He’d be embarrassed by that except Arthur takes it as some kind of incentive to suck harder and yeah. _Yeah_.

John groans loud, swears he can hear it echo in the canyon, and sucks in a huge breath through his nose like he’s forgotten how to breathe, burning coal exhaust and the explosive smell of blown dynamite on the air. He can feel the backs of his knees sweating in his jeans, his legs starting to shake with the effort to keep himself standing as his orgasm barrels closer like the train on their tail.

“Arthur,” he whispers, sounding like a mix of a warning and a plea. He opens his eyes he never realized he’d closed and stares down at Arthur on his knees, his lips sealed tight except when he opens wider to shove himself further down John’s cock or to press his tongue in wherever he wants.

John comes at the sight of him, sudden and without any other warning. His cock _aches_ with it, like he’s never come before in his entire life, throbbing as he pulses into the heat of Arthur’s mouth, his eyes burning with the need to close. But he squints, desperate to watch Arthur’s throat swallowing around him.

Arthur grunts in surprise at the first pulse, then groans deep in the back of his throat where John can only just reach, the vibrations a whisper against the head of his cock while he’s coming in a way he doesn’t think he could forget any time soon.

John whacks his head back against the wall again, spent and in the mood for a nap as soon as he stops pulsing inside the warmth of Arthur’s mouth. He groans, overstimulated, when Arthur shoves himself deeper again and swallows John to the back of his throat rather than pulling off, like he couldn’t help himself for a second.

But then there’s nothing but cool air whispering across John’s skin and he shivers, has to hurry and tuck himself away, quickly fastens his gun belt into place when Arthur rises to his feet in front of him.

John grunts, surprised when he gets a quick punch to the shoulder, and lifts a hand to rub out the pain.

“Thanks for the warning, asshole,” Arthur says, all scandalized outrage John can hear is fake loud and clear.

He grins, rubs out the last of the smarting pain. “You seemed to enjoy it.” His grin turns sharper when Arthur shoves him back, his shoulders knocking into the wooden wall behind him.

“Shut the hell up,” Arthur snipes back, but there’s an amused, knowing look in his eye like he knows he enjoyed it and he knows John knows he enjoyed it, and John supposes they’ll just leave it at that.

But then Arthur surprises him, leans into his space, and bites rather than kisses his lips. He tugs on John’s lower lip, sending a little wave of frisson along the back of John’s neck.

And then they really are kissing, all open mouths and messy, the rasp of Arthur’s beard rough against John’s cheek. 

John hears the clink of metal and looks down to see Arthur pulling himself out of his pants, his cock hard as anything, thick in the palm of his hand and the head gone a plummy color that John swears has his own dick throbbing in a phantom ache of sympathy.

“Hand,” Arthur grunts.

John wastes no time arguing, just wraps his fingers around the hot length of him, lets Arthur do whatever he wants. 

He starts thrusting his hips, deep undulations that move his cock from the base up to the tip, almost popping completely free of John’s hold every few strokes. He grunts, quiet, and then his hand is wrapping around John’s, squeezing his grip tighter. 

Arthur’s head tips down onto John’s shoulder a few thrusts into the tighter hold, panting hard in a foggy feeling against his neck. “ _God_ , John,” he rumbles, and then he’s groaning in John’s ear, his hips switching to a deeper, slower pace while he rides John’s hand through his orgasm.

He comes to a stop eventually, just stands there trying to catch his breath still huddled in close down the length of John’s body, his dick softening in the grip of John’s hand still wrapped around him.

John finally slackens his hand and that seems to be Arthur’s cue to stand up straight, step back, and quickly rearrange himself back together.

They stand there in silence for a beat too long, things turning awkward now that the adrenaline of the insanity it was to blow up a fucking bridge has passed, and now that they’d both come hard.

John turns his hand up and notices the splashes of come on his wrist that seem to disappear up his coat-sleeve. Without really thinking about it, he raises his arm to his lips and licks up a line of it, all salty and still a little warm.

“Jesus, John,” Arthur mutters and John flicks his eyes up and swears he’s blushing.

“What?” John grins and licks up another small splash and _yeah_ , there’s the blush reaching Arthur’s ears. John laughs which makes Arthur sigh in that _why do I put up with this_? way he does when he’s stomping around camp sometimes and wants to act like he’s above it all.

Arthur leans down to pick up his hat, brushes off some dirt from the top, and then hides his eyes in the shadow of the brim when he places it atop his head. “Come on, let’s go.” He whistles for his horse, a ridiculous red Arabian he’d wandered into camp saddled on a few weeks ago.

“Your horse is ridiculous,” John says, smirking wide, knowing exactly how protective Arthur gets about them.

“You shut your mouth.” He says it with a small smile of his own like he’s got a read on John, knows he’s just pushing his buttons at this point.

She runs up from wherever Arthur had left her, her mane flowing all majestic and John swears time slows down on her approach, like she can control time just to make a grand entrance. When she comes to a polite, almost regal stop alongside Arthur, he pats along her flank with a rumbled, “Good girl,” and John realizes in that moment, his face heating, that he’s gonna have a problem hearing Arthur speak in that tone of voice from here on out, what with it being uncannily similar to the way he sounded with his face pressed in close to John’s neck there at the end.

John steps forward and raises a hand to help Arthur into the saddle, confused himself when he realizes what he’s doing. Arthur’s as puzzled by it as he is judging by his expression that screams loud and clear _what the hell are you doing_? without having to say a word. And then it’s John’s turn to blush, just a little. 

“See you back at camp?” he asks, trying to save face and muster on beyond the moment before Arthur decides to open his mouth with the ribbing John swears he can see blooming on his face.

Arthur shows him mercy, only grins wider and then pats his horse again. “Yeah, we got some shit to talk about,” he says and adjusts his seat in the saddle. “And not just this, but what we’re gonna do to get the hell outta this whole mess. You, me, Abigail and Jack, and anyone else who wants out, too.”

John nods and pets along the mane of Arthur’s horse for want of anything better to do in the moment. At the look Arthur flicks his way, he grins and shakes his head, but puts his hands up in surrender.

“No tryin’a seduce away my horse’s loyalties with your wiles, Marston.” Then he smirks and spurs her on, and John watches until he’s disappeared down the trail.

He licks his lips, the salty taste of Arthur’s come still vivid on his tongue, and with that, he heads for the wagon he’s still got to dispose of elsewhere. Yeah, they’ve got some things to sort out, but this is oddly the best John has felt in months.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on Tumblr at [theyoftenwhisper](https://theyoftenwhisper.tumblr.com/) if you like. 😊


End file.
